


a beautiful union between former enemies

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 06:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14562549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: “This is not one of Doyle’s stupid plays,” Kimball says, indignant and shocked at the suggestion. She usually has a wealth of patience for her captains eccentricities born of being the general of an army of mostly teenagers, but. Honestly.“Shakespeare isn’t stupid,” Doyle protests, once again proving that his priorities are absolutely atrocious.“Oh come on, a political marriage between the two of you is gonna fix all of our problems!” Tucker says.





	a beautiful union between former enemies

Doyle splutters. 

“This is  _ not  _ one of Doyle’s stupid plays,” Kimball says, indignant and shocked at the suggestion. She usually has a wealth of patience for her captains eccentricities born of being the general of an army of mostly teenagers, but.  _ Honestly.  _

“Shakespeare isn’t stupid,” Doyle protests, once again proving that his priorities are absolutely atrocious. 

“Oh come on, a political marriage between the two of you is gonna fix all of our problems!” Tucker says. 

She gives him a look. 

“All of our internal problems,” he corrects himself. “You know, all of the bad vibes.” 

By ‘bad vibes’, she assumes that Tucker is referring to the extreme tension between the Feds and the Rebels that is probably going to lead to an outright murder case any day now, which will basically spell the end of the Fed-Republic alliance, which will spell the end of all of them as a people who are breathing. Bad vibes, indeed. 

But really. As if marrying Doyle is going to just fix that. As if that’s even an option. Even if she  _ didn’t _ hate his guts, his actions, his orders, his past, his beliefs, his taste in tea, and his mustache, then it’s still an idiotic idea. An  _ arranged marriage. _ This isn't the dark ages, for fuck’s sake. 

“This is ridiculous and a waste of my time,” she tells him sternly. 

“Actually,” Carolina says in a considering tone of voice, and Kimball looks at her, betrayed. “Both of the armies trust their respective generals immensely. To see the two of you commit to each other to such a degree may be just the reassurement they need.” 

Kimball looks at Carolina, who only looks mildly apologetic, and then at Doyle, who looks at her with a matching expression of dawning panic as it starts to sink that this maybe is actually really happening. Agreeing with him grates almost as much as disagreeing with him. 

“Plus,” Epsilon says, flickering into being above Carolina’s shoulder, “a wedding’s always good for morale. Or so I hear.” 

“Fuck,” she breathes, as she accepts that she’s going to make herself do this. For Chorus. 

Doyle faints as he presumably does the same thing. 

 

There is a stunned silence from the crowd right after she announces it. And then, a hand rises. Kimball looks at it tiredly. Do they really have to  _ hammer in _ all of the time that they’re all just a bunch of teenagers forced into combat by horrible circumstance? 

“Yes, Palomo?” she says, summoning up that near infinite well of patience. 

“You like him?” he says incredulously. 

“Yes,” she forces past grit teeth. “Very much so. He’s so...” Cowardly. Difficult. Ignorant. “Sweet.” 

Another hand goes up, Fed white. 

“Yes, Brown?” Doyle says at her side. 

“You like _ her?”  _

Kimball and most of the rebels bristle a little at this. 

“Yes,” Doyle says, and in his favor he does manage to sound a little more convincing than Kimball had. “She’s an incredible woman.” 

And with this, dozens and dozens of hands go up. She bites back a groan. 

“Yes, Jensen?” 

“Who proposed to who?” 

This gives her pause, because, well. It was technically Tucker who proposed them. Tucker’s terrible, awful idea that she can’t ignore now that it’s been brought to her attention, damn him. 

“Both of us,” Doyle answers for her in a panicked rush. 

“Yes, that’s right,” she hurries to back him up, hiding a glare behind her helmet. “We simultaneously proposed to each other by pure coincidence.” 

A murmur goes through the crowd at this. 

“That’s so  _ romantic.”  _

“Just like a romcom!” 

“I wish I could’ve seen that.” 

There are more than a few dreamy sighs as the crowd seems to warm up to the idea of their generals having an intense and genuine romance with each other. Kimball stares, dismayed, as their plan works. The meeting isn’t even over yet, and morale is already improving. She’s really going to have to go through with it now. 

“Are you going to have  _ babies?” _ a rebel too excited to wait to be picked pipes up, bouncing on her toes while waving her hand in the air. 

Kimball swallows a scream and is reluctantly impressed when Doyle only swoons and staggers a little at the question. It’s going to be a long evening. 

 

“I don’t want for us to write our own vows,” she says. 

“Why ever not, Vanessa?” Doyle asks incredulously. 

She narrows her eyes at the first name but doesn’t say anything. He’s right, they should start calling each other by their first names now, considering. Doesn’t mean that she has to like it. 

“Because you’re just going to quote something,” she says. 

“Quotes can be poignant and--”

“If we’re going to make our own original vows then I want for them to be _ actually _ original.” 

“I can make good speeches!” he blusters. “I’m a general too.”

“You can actually do public speaking?” she asks him skeptically. 

_ “Yes,” _ he says, and she imagines that he’s narrowing his eyes behind his helmet now too. And then, after a beat: “So long as Doctor Grey is at my side. And I get some private time breathing into a paper bag before and after.” 

Well, at least he’ll be able to keep it together for as long as their marriage matters; when they’re being watched. 

“Grey can’t be standing at your side during the ceremony,” she points out. “You’re not marrying  _ her.”  _ If only. 

“She’ll officiate,” he says. 

“I never agreed to be married by a Fed,” she says because Doyle has the remarkable skill to bring out the petty in her. 

“She’s licensed to do it!” he protests. “Who else are we supposed to use? Are you hiding a priest somewhere?” 

She wants to bite something scathing off at him in response to that, but. No, she probably definitely does not have a priest in her army, statistically speaking. 

“There has to be  _ someone,” _ she says. “Someone neutral.” 

And that’s how Sarge ends up being put down as their officiator. 

“It’ll be an honor, sirs!” he says with a salute. “I’ve married more couples than there are hinky magic alien towers on this world! Opposite sex, same sex, human, alien, and others.” 

“Others?” Doyle asks with anxious confusion. 

“I’m equal opportunity!” he says with a cheery nod, like that explains anything at all. 

“Thank you, Sarge,” she says, not willing to further pursue the road of ‘what has Sarge married’. “Your help is appreciated.” 

He puffs up happily and goes, “Just doing my duty, sir!” 

She smiles with helpless fondness for the simtrooper and dismisses him. She isn’t usually so formal with her soldiers, but she can tell that Sarge likes it, and why should she deny him something that makes him happy and that’s so easy to give? 

“So you are capable of actual formality,” Doyle observes, and her good mood is dashed as she’s reminded of who this man is, that she’s standing in the same room as him, and that she’s going to  _ marry _ him. He actually sounds genuinely surprised, but that only makes the insult more biting, intended or not. 

“I’m capable of a lot of things,” she tells him tensely, diplomatically swallowing back the words  _ like kicking your arrogant ass.  _

“Oh, I know,” he says, and that sounds genuine too. She isn’t flattered for a second. Knowing him, he’s probably just thinking of all of the _ horrendous _ things she’s surely capable of. Betraying her government, being a terrorist, using child soldiers as meatshields. She sneers, having to choke down fury after only hearing three vague words from the man.  _ And she’s marrying him.  _ The universe is cold and cruel. 

Well, at least that fact doesn’t come as any kind of surprise. 

“Wait!” Doyle gasps. “What about Emily?” 

She blinks, distracted from her inner mini tirade, and tries to figure out who the hell Emily is for a moment. Oh, right, Emily Grey. The woman Doyle needs at his side if he wants to avoid hyperventilating while publicly speaking. The one Kimball had just vetoed as an officiator. 

Hmm. She should probably fix that, somehow. Like hell she’s going to backpedal in front of Doyle though, so what could she-- 

Idea. 

“Just make her your bridesmaid,” she says dismissively, as if the conclusion had been obvious to her all along. “Someone has to be, anyways.”

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, yes, I suppose that does work. Do you have anyone in mind for best man, then?” 

“Yes,” she says firmly, even though she doesn’t have the faintest clue. She’d rather take a dive into the radioactive lake than admit any kind of failure in front of Doyle. 

“Alright then,” he nods. “Now we just have to hammer out the specifics of the wedding cake--”

“There’s a  _ food shortage--”  _

And just like that, they’re arguing after less than five minutes of being alone with each other. A new record. For holding back, that is. 

 

They have the wedding during a moment they’re pretty sure they won’t be attacked. Everyone’s wearing armor and has their guns on hand anyways, including the ‘lucky’ bride and groom. Grif reluctantly agreed to share some of his snack cakes as a wedding present, so that’s what they’re eating instead of the three tier vanilla buttercream frosted cake of Doyle’s dreams, but at least they’ve got something. It helps makes this all feel more real, instead of like they’re kids playing make believe. This needs to feel real. 

The republic soldiers sit on the left side. The feds on the right. She supposes they  _ are _ their families. 

“Match my breathing,” Grey whispers to Doyle, and he nods desperately and does so. 

“I’m so honored you chose me, sir,” Lieutenant Andersmith tells her. 

“Of course, Lieutenant,” she says. In all honesty, she just picked him because she didn’t want to declare one of the simtroopers her favorite, she’s still slightly mad at Carolina for encouraging this, and Andersmith is at least the most mature of the lieutenants. So, her best man was more the result of a process of elimination than anything else. Not that he or anyone else needed to know that. 

(She would have chosen Felix, once.)

“I’m going to tell this story to my grandchildren one day,” he goes on. 

“That’s nice, Andersmith,” she says. She appreciates his optimism that he’ll live long enough to have grandchildren one day. 

God, her thoughts are dour for what’s supposed to be one of the happiest days in her life. 

Sarge clears his throat. He’s holding his shotgun instead of a bible, but she decides not to let that phase her. She has a pistol holstered at her hip, after all.

“Dearly beloved,” he says loudly. “We are all gathered here today to celebrate a beautiful union between former enemies, now turned allies! To  _ death.” _

Okay, so maybe she should have cleared whatever Sarge was gonna say beforehand. 

“They will fight together! They will slaughter their enemies together! They will raise murderous little angels together! And if anyone has something to say against this, then raise your hand so that the bride and or groom may engage you in combat to the death to prove who’s right, or forever hold your silence!” 

Everyone sits very, very quietly as Sarge searches the room with a keen eye for any dissenters. Honestly, she is pleasantly surprised at the silence. The simtrooper really can pull miracles out of their asses sometimes. 

“... Alright then,” Sarge reluctantly mutters. “No action for this wedding, I suppose. It’s too bad, a death match really spices things up, and I hear it’s a good omen.” 

“Oh thank god,” Doyle mumbles faintly, looking weak kneed at almost having to fight someone for his bride’s hand in marriage. Kimball, personally, would have been more relieved to have someone to unload her tension on before she went on to commit what may just be the greatest mistake of her life. 

“Vows?” he says with a snap of his fingers at them. Kimball feels like they’re maybe not doing this quite right, but whatever. No one here has the access to Google to prove them wrong. 

Doyle looks like a deer in headlights, so she decides to go first. 

“I, Vanessa Kimball, take you, Donald Doyle, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.” 

Unfortunately they’re already in the worse and poorer part of their union, and she’s got a feeling death isn’t too far away either. Also, she’s got a sore throat, so she could technically check off the in sickness box as well. 

“I, Donald Doyle,” says Doyle, which is good so far. He just has to keep going, and then they can get this over with, “take you… Oh, like I could ever  _ take _ you.” 

_ Damn it.  _

“He’s going off script,” Andersmith whispers to her. “Is he supposed to do that?” 

“No,” she whispers back, and then, to Doyle, “You better not be getting cold feet _ at the altar,  _ Doyle.” 

Because if he does then they’re  _ certainly _ going to have that murder case they’d been trying to avoid in the first place, and it won’t be coming from down in the ranks. Oh, who is she kidding, this is a classic Doyle move. 

“You’re far too-- too amazing for that,” he goes on, and she blinks, caught off guard. “Kim-- Vanessa, you’re one of the most impressive women I’ve ever met, and trust me, I know some.” 

Grey giggles. 

“I am honestly stunned that you’re marrying me,” he says, which is one of the few statements he’s ever said that she can honestly agree with. “And I hope we can make this work.” 

He’s talking about the republic-federation alliance, surely. 

“I hope we’ll win the war. I hope we’ll see peace. And I hope I’ll be able to match your bravery and determination in that pursuit.”

Kimball realizes he isn’t just being passive aggressive. He actually respects her. 

“And now, a quote from Shakespeare’s most famous romantic play, Romeo and Juliet.” 

_ That son of a bitch.  _

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;   
Doubt that the sun doth move;   
Doubt truth to be a liar;   
But never doubt I love.” 

She gives him the death glare of a lifetime underneath her helmet. He’d gone against her wishes and recited original vows,  _ improvised _ ones at that. Worst of all, they’d honestly been sort of…  _ very  _ touching. And then he’d gone ahead and capped it off with _ that  _ nonsense. 

“You may now de-helmet and kiss each other!” Sarge declares. “Fingers crossed you don’t get sniped during the brief window of opportunity.” 

“Oh dear,” Doyle says, but he makes himself take his helmet off anyways. 

She follows suit, flinging it forcefully behind her for her best man to pick up, and then she grabs him by his armor and pulls him sharply up against her and _ kisses _ him. Hard, passionately, all in, like she’s been waiting for this for ages. 

How  _ dare _ this awful man make her  _ like _ him. She hates him so much. 

There are whoops and hollers and applause from the crowd. The crowd, not two separate crowds. “Save it for the honeymoon!” Bitters yells, and Feds laughs at that along with the rebels. 

She finally lets the kiss end far after is normally appropriate for a wedding kiss, and she actually has to support Doyle a bit afterwards, still holding him close. He looks flushed and overwhelmed, speechless. 

“Don’t say a word,” she mutters grumpily. If he does, if he annoys her one single inch more, she can’t guarantee that she won’t start ravaging him in front of the entire united army of Chorus again. 

And just like that, they’re married. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hate + like = uncontrollable sexual attraction. Trust me, I’ve read Homestuck.


End file.
